


Up on the Housetop

by mudkipwrites



Series: Ineffable Holiday Heartwarmers [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Christmas Decorating, Christmas Fluff, Confessions of love, Falling In Love, Ficlets, First Time, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Other, Series, Winter, ladders - Freeform, literally falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27500344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley do some holiday decorating (smooching!). The third part of a series of short and sweet ficlets based on the 2019 Netflix/Hallmark Holiday Movie Bingo prompts!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Holiday Heartwarmers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009620
Kudos: 5





	Up on the Housetop

**Author's Note:**

> This one is based on the prompt: "Hanging Lights on the Roof," and takes place in the early 2000's.

* * *

Crowley is _not_ looking at Aziraphale’s arse. 

He’s _not_ glancing up at him as he anchors the ladder that’s leaned on the slippery roof. He’s most _certainly not_ imagining climbing up that tall ladder to join his ( _paramore? boyfriend?_ ) angel on the top rung--where Crowley would push him down and snog the daylights out of his plush, rosy face. Typically, demons like Crowley would do _anything_ to stay out of this kind of sub-zero cold; but Aziraphale is _Aziraphale._ And the angel had asked Crowley to help him decorate the shop. _So._

“Alright down there, Crowley?” his angel calls calls. “Do you need to take a break from this cold, Dear heart?” 

As if on cue, hunk of ice and slush slides from the rooftop as the angel shimmies farther upward. The demon dodges, muttering curses, as it sails past the sign of _A.Z. Fell & Co: Antiquarian and Unusual Books. _Muttering threats of hellfire and burning death, Crowley grits his teeth. _Yes,_ he is cold--and y _es,_ he'd very much like to be done. But this is for _Aziraphale._ He can manage it. 

“M’fine, thanks," he replies, lying through his teeth. 

Crowley's voice is muffled by the thick, scarlet scarf wrapped around his face and neck. It's much like the one that the angle had made for him long ago; but this one is new. Aziraphale had knitted it for him only yesterday, as the two of them sat by the fire with steaming cups of cocoa. It had been one of his most _wonderful_ afternoons to this very date. 

“Just. Be careful, okay?” 

Aziraphale laughs merrily. “You _worry_ too much, you old serpent!," he replies. "I'll be _fine."_

Rolling his cat-like, golden eyes, Crowley grumbles. He doesn’t much like his angel being near _danger._ Alright, _yes--_ Aziraphale _does_ have a fine set of lovely, white wings to catch himself in the case of falling; and, admittedly, _yes,_ he is _much_ stronger _(has always been stronger)_ than Crowley himself in a pinch. But the angel is _still_ is outside of his arms’ reach. And that's several feet farther than his personal preferences. 

Crowley snaps to attention as another downfall of icy snow crashes down around him. 

_This_ time, it just barely misses him, and Crowley is forced to lurch out of the way. He hisses as the ladder sways threateningly, bits of icicles scattering against the wall and the spiraling rungs. " _CROWLEY?!”_ Aziraphale yelps, bending to look back over his shoulder. His face is flushed pink with cold and lined with concern. _“Dear heavens,_ are you _alright_?”

The demon is fine. In fact, he's much more concerned with Aziraphale twisting and turning upon the ladder like that. “ _Careful,_ Angel!” he snaps. “You could _hurt_ yourself!” 

Aziraphale shakes his head and returns to his work. “Oh, _love_. That’s all you’re worried about?” Crowley flushes at the name, and is about to protest, when, suddenly, multicolored lights burst to life all around them. It's a wonderful sight: even though he has seen them countless times before, Crowley is dazzled by the long, wrapping cords of twinkling lights. They twine around the pointed archway of the bookshop, drape over each ledge of the frosted windowsills. With a flood of admiration, the demon notices that Aziraphale has even taken the most gentle care of securing each of the large letters of " _A.Z. Fell"_ with the rainbow lights. 

He's still admiring the sight when the ladder begins to shake. Crowley looks up, and, with a shock, he finds himself pressed nose-to-nose with Aziraphale. 

“I’m just fine, darling. You really don't have to worry about me." Crowley feels his stomach do a great, swooping lurch. The lights reflect off Aziraphale’s brilliant, clear eyes, flickering in the most mesmerizing of dances. The angel's perfect, plush lips are bowed into a gentle smile, and he's talking in that soft, affectionate voice that makes the demon's heart melt. It's the same one that whispers words to him like _"on our own side"_ and _"just for you, dear"_ with a fresh mug of cocoa. 

Heartbeat racing, Crowley swallows thickly. 

“We’re _safe_ ,” Aziraphale assures him once again. “ _I’m_ safe. And _you're_ safe. Heaven and Hell know that we're on our own side: and that I’m _not_ going to leave you. Not now, and not _ever._ ” The admission of it takes Crowley's breath away. He releases a tight, shaking breath that he didn't realize that he's been holding--one that, perhaps, has been lodged in his chest since he'd walked into the bookshop's burning fire, thinking that he'd forever lost his best friend. As Crowley crumbles with relief and comfort at Aziraphale's words, the angel wraps one of his mitten-clad hands over his own. Now, at this angle, he is only inches away from Crowley's face. Warm, white puffs of breath fan over his cheeks. 

The sweetness of his breath smells like hot chocolate, and _home._

“The Apocalypse is over," Aziraphale murmurs. "This holiday, it's just going to be you and me. Nothing else to worry about: no prophecy child, no dreaded work notices." The angel leans his head close, bringing their lips only a whisper apart. It seems as though, in this final moment, he's going to answer that eternal question: _will we, or won't we? Is this us, you and me?_ Crowley feels his heart thundering as his own lips move into a pucker. 

Of course, that would be when the over-burdened ladder _falls._

"CROWLEY!" Aziraphale yelps--just as he cries, " _ANGEL!"_

In a mad tilt of color, snowflakes and light, the world upsets around them. A bit too late, Crowley realizes that this mortal ladder is not built to support two celestial corporations, let alone hanging with all their weight off of one side. The pair of them fall, tumbling down towards the snowy pillows of ground. Blessedly, they both find themselves sprawled in the snowbank, hands and legs still entwined from the fall. 

_"Aziraphale!"_ Crowley cries. "Are you alright?!" 

Rather than answering the demon's question, the angel presses his lips against his. It's a truly perfect and utterly holy moment: Crowley, as if illuminated rather than the bulbs around the house, feels as though he himself is glowing. His pulse thunders loudly within his chest; his heart _sings;_ his skin ripples with a million, delicious sensations. 

"... _more_ than alright," Aziraphale murmurs, breaking the kiss to brush back Crowley's hair. "Never better, I think." 

For a moment, they are frozen in reverent rapture. And then--with a happy, bubbling laugh--the pair of them lunge together again. It's a merry, enthusiastic meeting of lips: the sliding of teeth and tongues, the searching of hands. What began as a sensitive peck on the cheek is _rapidly_ becoming something...something _else,_ and Crowley has never felt more alive. 

" _Aziraphale,"_ he breathes, in barely more than a whisper. Crowley's eyes sting with tears in the cold, afternoon light, and he feels as though his whole body is glowing. " _Thank you."_

 _"Dearest_ Crowley," Aziraphale replies fondly. Laying upon the other man, dusted with snow, the angel appears like the finest of Christmas tree toppers. He holds the demon's face, thumbs stroking over his lips, eyebrows, cheekbones. "It is I who should be thanking _you._ Merry Christmas, my love: the first of many, I hope. Because now, it seems, we have all the time in the world...I intend to spend each and every minute of it with you." 

Crowley kisses him, snow spiraling all around. "For all of eternity," he agrees blissfully. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have time, please leave your comments and kudos. It really makes all the difference in the world to a writer and reader like me. Happy Holidays!


End file.
